Some fic... mayhaps?
Oh, hi!
You're still here? I'm touched *sloppy kisses* :)
Big hugs for all ya all who are still giving my LJ the time of day. I promise to post exactly what has been happening the past few months, with life, my foot, work, family, all the boring stuff lol.
Anywho, I threw together a little ficlet. Those responsible for this one will know who they are. I can't really tell you much about it without giving stuff away. In case you don't get it I'm gonna add a hidden coloured explanation in red quotes at the end. Select it for the lowdown.
Yup, this is a ficlet you're gonna have to read at least twice.
Enjoy
It's a long way from the bright light at the front of house of the theatre.
In actual fact it's only about ten feet but it may as well have been as far away as A is from Z.
There was a leather clad emo standing by the stage door. It was the best way to describe the figure lurking in the shadows.
The leather was much more of an optional extra in this case. There was more exposure than leather. Unlike an emo however there was a jittery nervousness, waiting by the stage door of the theatre.
In the dull flicking light from above the door, if you looked hard enough you could see in the trash on the ground, remants of a few of his fixes were scattered around him. The light illuminated a few of the faded posters that had survived being on the brick wall.
"Most sensational," the emo figure read part of one of the posters he could see from the flickering light. He scoffed. Maybe in it's heyday, the theatre was that now, it was just another run down theatre that was only frequented by a select clientelle.
Yes, back in the day, well before the jittery emo was born, the theatre would be packed with people, laughing until it hurt. He never saw it back then. There were only whispered mutterings on the street he frequented about those days.
He'd heard a lot of the stories. Didn't really believe them. He was more inclined to believe what he saw with his own eyes.
"Inspirational," one of the gay couple, who lived in a building on the street he worked, told him one day, when he'd asked about the theatre. "I never performed there, neither did my partner." The last word 'partner' was said in almost a clandestined way. It was the worst keep secret on the street. Everyone played dumb. It wasn't hurting anyone and it was fun to play along.
"There were jugglers, commedians, stunt artists, exhibition dancing, singers, a regular vaudville mere streets away."
The emo actually smiled when he saw the wistful look in the gay guy's eyes. He didn't ask many people what things were like back then. Some were prone to anger that those days were long gone and never going to return. The emo would take a small hit of the powder in the small pocket attached to his leathers and wander off down the street.
He wasn't even sure why he was being asked to meet here. Probably cause it was so far away from where people knew him.
The bag he had, clutched in his hand, was still warm. The contents were fresh. He'd stopped off on his way here.
He looked up as the remnants of his last fix were crushed underfoot to see a figure in the mouth of the allyway.
The figure was much bigger than him. Clad in a trenchcoat with a wide fedora tipped low.
He approached the emo.
Suddenly, the emo had decided he didn't want this but it was too late, the trenchcoat figure was too close.
In the flickering light of the stage door, the emo saw the eyes of the trenchcoat stranger as they rolled around, almost independant of each other.
What was this guy on? the emo thought to himself.
He was close to the emo now, his breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
The voice was rough, it was vaguely familar to the emo. He'd heard it before, when he was working on the street.
"Do you have them?" he asked. The emo nodded nervously, and reached into a smaller leather pouch, for another fix.
"That's not good for you, you know," the rough voice said.
"Yeah, well, neither is this," the emo said, holding the bag up. The trenchcoated stranger made to grab the bag but the emo pulled it away with a new found confidence.
"C is for cookie," the trenchcoated stranger drooled, the emo felt the warm breath and smelt the sweetness of the stranger.
"Cookies are a sometimes food," the emo said nervously.
"Sometime is now time."
Explanation: "Have you guessed? The Emo... is Elmo. Our Trenchcoated stranger, is the Cookie Monster. The "gay guy," is Ernie and the theatre in question is "The Muppet Theatre." Oh, and shame on you for thinking I'd give Elmo crack. Pixie Stix are his upper of choice.
Your options now: Vomit - cause you just inadvertantly read dark!muppet fic. Read it again to see if you can pick up the in jokes or tell others and see if you can get them to unwittingly fall into a dark!muppet world... muhahahahahaha *cough* *splutter* hahahaha."
Catch ya all again soon
*mwahs and waves*
Zane
You're still here? I'm touched *sloppy kisses* :)
Big hugs for all ya all who are still giving my LJ the time of day. I promise to post exactly what has been happening the past few months, with life, my foot, work, family, all the boring stuff lol.
Anywho, I threw together a little ficlet. Those responsible for this one will know who they are. I can't really tell you much about it without giving stuff away. In case you don't get it I'm gonna add a hidden coloured explanation in red quotes at the end. Select it for the lowdown.
Yup, this is a ficlet you're gonna have to read at least twice.
Enjoy
It's a long way from the bright light at the front of house of the theatre.
In actual fact it's only about ten feet but it may as well have been as far away as A is from Z.
There was a leather clad emo standing by the stage door. It was the best way to describe the figure lurking in the shadows.
The leather was much more of an optional extra in this case. There was more exposure than leather. Unlike an emo however there was a jittery nervousness, waiting by the stage door of the theatre.
In the dull flicking light from above the door, if you looked hard enough you could see in the trash on the ground, remants of a few of his fixes were scattered around him. The light illuminated a few of the faded posters that had survived being on the brick wall.
"Most sensational," the emo figure read part of one of the posters he could see from the flickering light. He scoffed. Maybe in it's heyday, the theatre was that now, it was just another run down theatre that was only frequented by a select clientelle.
Yes, back in the day, well before the jittery emo was born, the theatre would be packed with people, laughing until it hurt. He never saw it back then. There were only whispered mutterings on the street he frequented about those days.
He'd heard a lot of the stories. Didn't really believe them. He was more inclined to believe what he saw with his own eyes.
"Inspirational," one of the gay couple, who lived in a building on the street he worked, told him one day, when he'd asked about the theatre. "I never performed there, neither did my partner." The last word 'partner' was said in almost a clandestined way. It was the worst keep secret on the street. Everyone played dumb. It wasn't hurting anyone and it was fun to play along.
"There were jugglers, commedians, stunt artists, exhibition dancing, singers, a regular vaudville mere streets away."
The emo actually smiled when he saw the wistful look in the gay guy's eyes. He didn't ask many people what things were like back then. Some were prone to anger that those days were long gone and never going to return. The emo would take a small hit of the powder in the small pocket attached to his leathers and wander off down the street.
He wasn't even sure why he was being asked to meet here. Probably cause it was so far away from where people knew him.
The bag he had, clutched in his hand, was still warm. The contents were fresh. He'd stopped off on his way here.
He looked up as the remnants of his last fix were crushed underfoot to see a figure in the mouth of the allyway.
The figure was much bigger than him. Clad in a trenchcoat with a wide fedora tipped low.
He approached the emo.
Suddenly, the emo had decided he didn't want this but it was too late, the trenchcoat figure was too close.
In the flickering light of the stage door, the emo saw the eyes of the trenchcoat stranger as they rolled around, almost independant of each other.
What was this guy on? the emo thought to himself.
He was close to the emo now, his breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
The voice was rough, it was vaguely familar to the emo. He'd heard it before, when he was working on the street.
"Do you have them?" he asked. The emo nodded nervously, and reached into a smaller leather pouch, for another fix.
"That's not good for you, you know," the rough voice said.
"Yeah, well, neither is this," the emo said, holding the bag up. The trenchcoated stranger made to grab the bag but the emo pulled it away with a new found confidence.
"C is for cookie," the trenchcoated stranger drooled, the emo felt the warm breath and smelt the sweetness of the stranger.
"Cookies are a sometimes food," the emo said nervously.
"Sometime is now time."
Explanation: "Have you guessed? The Emo... is Elmo. Our Trenchcoated stranger, is the Cookie Monster. The "gay guy," is Ernie and the theatre in question is "The Muppet Theatre." Oh, and shame on you for thinking I'd give Elmo crack. Pixie Stix are his upper of choice.
Your options now: Vomit - cause you just inadvertantly read dark!muppet fic. Read it again to see if you can pick up the in jokes or tell others and see if you can get them to unwittingly fall into a dark!muppet world... muhahahahahaha *cough* *splutter* hahahaha."
Catch ya all again soon
*mwahs and waves*
Zane